


And I Held Your Hand

by footsieinthegarden



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Anxious Enjolras, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Non-Sexual Slavery, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 01:07:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14249775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/footsieinthegarden/pseuds/footsieinthegarden
Summary: Grantaire isn't allowed to wear clothes, except when he is. Enjolras struggles with change.





	And I Held Your Hand

**Author's Note:**

> I've been feeling especially anxious lately, so I decided to channel it into Anxious!Enjolras slave!fic. You know, just like everyone does.
> 
> I waffled on whether to use the Hurt No Comfort tag instead, so consider yourself forewarned that this is much heavier on the hurt than the comfort. 
> 
> Also, if someone wants to travel back in time to tell past me to pick a song with a few more words to use for titling fics in this verse, that'd be just super.

No matter how hard he concentrated, Enjolras could not force his hands to stop shaking; or rather, he could, but then the rest of his body would start to shudder. Master had wanted eggs for breakfast, and Enjolras had felt sick with terror as he made them, unable to imagine what would happen if he dropped the raw eggs or ruined the final product. Master had also wanted Grantaire that morning and his lazy, smug smile had made Enjolras actually sick, more than able to imagine what was happening. 

Now that the water was hot enough, he started scrubbing the egg pan, trying not to think about it; normally this would have been simple – his thoughts often wandered and focusing on one subject for any length of time was a Herculean task. He had to consult his list every time he completed a chore, unable to remember more than one at a time, and sometimes he would even need to remind himself what he was in the middle of doing. But sometimes, when he just knew something terrible was happening to Grantaire, it was impossible to stop. He knew he should stop, that he needed to stop, because if Grantaire didn’t ever want to talk about what happened, he certainly didn’t want Enjolras dwelling on it for any length of time. That only made his fixation grow stronger. 

It wasn’t exactly irrational, for his fears were pulled straight from reality, but it was unhelpful. After all, it had only been a few days since he had been so overcome by thoughts of being permanently separated from Grantaire, brought on by nothing but his own mind, and intensified a sudden, horrific feeling that he was dying, that Master had found him crumpled on the floor, windows only half-washed. The beating had been so savage he could only bear to sleep on his stomach for several days; without Grantaire’s ministrations, he wouldn’t have been able to sleep at all. The other man had gently cleaned his back, ignored his feeble protests as he fed him painkillers, and then wordlessly folded up their quilt under Enjolras and made no complaint at having to sleep directly on the concrete. 

But had that really been just a few days ago? They had slept in their normal fashion last night, Enjolras was sure because had tried to comfort himself with that memory all morning, but hadn’t they done that for the last several nights? Had that beating really been over a week ago? Was it more than two weeks ago? He tried to work backward, day-by-day, but it was just a blur of pain and misery. He could remember events, if he tried hard enough, but putting them in the correct order was impossible.

He realized he was still scrubbing a now spotless pan and turned the sink off. He went to get the kitchen towel and then did a double-take when he saw Grantaire standing there. The other man was staring at the ground, unmoving. If he had come for Master’s breakfast, why didn’t he take the plate from the counter and go before he was punished for dawdling with Enjolras? If he had been dismissed for the time being, why hadn’t he gone to curl up behind the island like usual? Enjolras had been right: something was wrong, and since Grantaire would never say, he needed to figure it out on his own. He stared and stared; it had to be obvious.

“You’re dressed,” he said suddenly, immediately regretting his choice of words. Grantaire’s face was hidden by the angle of his head and his hair, but Enjolras knew he had to feel humiliated by the implication that Enjolras was accustomed to seeing him naked. Grantaire’s head bowed even deeper as Master laughed and came out of the hallway where he been leaning against the wall. 

Enjolras wished desperately that they’d be left alone. He wanted to apologize, to tell Grantaire he had just been caught off-guard and had not meant to make an awful situation worse, even if Grantaire would brush it off at best and ignore it at worst. He wanted to take Grantaire’s hands in his and kiss his forehead. He wanted to force him to eat a few mouthfuls of scrambled eggs. He did not dare admit to himself that he wanted to ask why things had changed. He probably could’ve been sick again if he allowed himself to be, empty stomach or not. 

Master wandered over and then sharply yanked Grantaire backwards by his T-shirt. He stumbled and choked a little as the fabric pulled against his throat. Enjolras bit his lip, because he knew exactly how it felt to be grabbed unexpectedly like that. “What do you think, boy?” Master prompted, smirking as he shook Grantaire for emphasis.

Enjolras’s mouth was dry and the knot in his chest was growing tighter by the moment. He hated these questions, the ones that had no right answers. He was genuinely glad that Grantaire would be a little warmer and a lot less exposed, but if Master forced Enjolras to pay the price for that comfort, Grantaire would find it instead just another torture to be endured. If he said no, Grantaire would almost certainly be forced to strip down right in front of him and never be given clothes again. He swallowed once, and then again. “Whatever pleases you, Master,” he whispered. He could not make that choice without at least trying to determine what Grantaire wanted. 

Master snorted and released Grantaire so that he could step forward and sharply twist Enjolras’s ear, grabbing a few locks of hair in the process and not letting go until Enjolras could not contain himself to just a whimper. “Don’t make me ask again,” Master warned as he flung Enjolras away and grabbed Grantaire before he could go to him. 

“It’s – it’s good, Master,” he whispered. Master’s smirk grew, and he murmured something in Grantaire’s ear that made him slump further and turn his head away. 

“I’m glad we’re in agreement then. I’ll just be taking these then,” Master picked up his plate and gripped Grantaire more firmly. “Oh, and no need to bring me lunch. I’ll come get it myself.” Grantaire made a quiet sound Enjolras knew was involuntary, and when Master whispered in his ear again, Grantaire frantically shook his head. Enjolras looked away when Master started nibbling on the shell of Grantaire’s ear.

He stared into the sink and tried to force himself to breathe slowly, but it was so difficult. Any time he got close to calm, his heart started pounding and the pain in his chest spiked again. The only thing that happened when he tried to throw up was a few dry heaves, which only made him feel worse. Finally, everything eased, and he sank to the floor, utterly drained, feeling cold and shaky. He knew he needed to start on his chores, but he couldn’t bring himself to move.

He could hardly see Grantaire at all under Master’s desk, mostly just the suggestion of his presence from the way Master had his chair and legs arranged, but it gave him something to look forward to throughout the morning, to get him through to evening when he would, hopefully, be able to spend more time with the other man. And now that was gone, and he didn’t even know why. He didn’t think it was a punishment, and not just because he couldn’t think of anything he had done wrong. This was simply just another game for Master, a new way to torment the two of them. 

He would never actually keep them separated indefinitely, as long as – no, even thinking about thinking about that sent another wave of nausea through Enjolras. Being taken next door was terrible and he quickly lost all sense of time, but he knew, even if he forgot it in the heat of the moment, that Master couldn’t actually leave him there forever. It was even better inside the cottage – it would be so much work to keep Enjolras apart from Grantaire that any such efforts could only last so long. Just because he couldn’t see Grantaire this one time, it didn’t mean he would never see him again, but his brain couldn’t help connecting Grantaire being allowed to wear clothes with Grantaire being kept from him, and his mind went in circles. 

Finally, he made himself rise look at his list of chores. They were all tedious kitchen tasks, and he knew it was a clear message he was not to go wandering or make any attempts to get closer to Grantaire. He was seized by a sudden desire to vacuum and act disoriented about what he was supposed to do that day; Grantaire would have to come out from under the desk so he could get under it, but that was merely a dream. Giving Master a simple reason to punish him might entice him to play this game more often. Enjolras would wait, and fantasize about going to sleep hand-in-hand with Grantaire that night, and try very hard not to think about how that might not happen. 

He got very little done that morning before he had to make lunch, only managing to scrub out the oven; he hated that particular task, loathed every second of it, knowing he could pull one lever and push one button and the oven would clean itself and it would be so warm and there would be no way to stop it without turning off the entire breaker, and that anger helped contain his fear. 

Later, he set Master’s plate of pasta out and made sure he was busy scouring the oven racks in the sink when Master appeared. Pretending that would be enough for Master to leave him be was yet another fantasy. He looked particularly smug when he sauntered out, and Enjolras forced himself to focus on scrubbing loudly at a particularly melted spot instead of thinking about why that was. Master bypassed his food and crowded into Enjolras’s personal space.

Enjolras slipped his hands free of the rack, not wanting his fingers to get snagged if he was manhandled away, and then forced himself to hold very still. Master’s breath was hot on his neck. “Master?” he asked finally, unable to bear his silent hovering any longer. Master sniffed and started prodding Enjolras’s back with a finger until he found a spot that made him tense in pain. He pressed again, until Enjolras gasped. Grantaire had offered to ice that particular set of bruises, but he had refused, unwilling to let Grantaire suffer for something so minor, and now he wished he had given in when Grantaire’s expression crumpled and changed his mind, or that he was coherent enough to simply fake the pain now for Master. 

“You would think Grantaire would be used to being naked, wouldn’t you?” 

“Yes, Master,” Enjolras gritted out after Master’s finger dug in sharply. 

“That’s so odd then,” Master said conversationally as he poked around for another bruise. The one he found was larger and more tender than the first; why hadn’t Enjolras just listened to Grantaire? “He seemed very upset when I made him take them off again.”

He applied more pressure. Enjolras bit his lip. “He’s always so cold, Master,” he tried, because that was a truth Master must already know. 

“Is he now?” Master asked like he didn’t. “How about this then? If you stay good and still for a beating and sit quietly outside the rest of the afternoon, I’ll let you have an extra blanket for a whole week.”

Blood started to trickle from Enjolras’s lip. “Will – can Grantaire take care of me afterwards?”

Master snorted and roughly twisted Enjolras’s ear again. “I should say no because you called him that, but I suppose I can indulge you, just this once. You have no idea how hard I get watching him get so desperate to fawn all over you.” Enjolras dry-heaved again, almost grateful because it drowned out Master’s laughter. 

Then everything was hazy with pain and cold and loneliness, until he felt a pair of hands on his shoulders. He knew this was safe and allowed himself to be clumsily led to the bathroom. A blanket was wrapped around him to the waist and then a hot rag was dabbed gently on a welt across his shoulder. The sharp flash of pain brought him back to himself, and he gasped and trembled. Grantaire made soothing sounds and rubbed an unmarked section of his arm until he was only trembling from the cold and not the pain; he had no idea how Grantaire could tell which was which. He tried to stay still after that, focusing on the relief that Grantaire was here, was touching him, that his worries from earlier were unfounded. When he started to feel them rushing back in at the thought they could easily be separated now, that this could be temporary, he decided the pain was the lesser of two evils after all. 

He gingerly put his shirt back on when Grantaire finished and looked up in surprise when the other man handed him two granola bars. Grantaire shook his head. Enjolras tried to un-notice how bruised and swollen his lips were. “I didn’t – it was because – I was – I waited, to get you. Like I was supposed to.” Enjolras touched Grantaire’s hand and then softly kissed it. He offered him one of the bars. “I already ate,” Grantaire lied. Enjolras broke it in half, and Grantaire took that piece without further protestation. Enjolras’s stomach hurt when he had finally managed to eat it all. 

He stood up and let Grantaire carefully drape the blanket across his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” Grantaire whispered when he was satisfied. “He said you could have this instead of a bath. I couldn’t – he wouldn’t let you have both.”

Enjolras closed his eyes. “Grantaire, it’s alright,” he managed, surprised how hoarse his voice was. All he wanted to do now was lie down and go to sleep, right on the bathroom floor. Every part of today had just been a demonstration of Master’s power over them, just like every other day. Neither of them had ever had any actual control over producing this outcome, just the faintest hint of it. He kept his eyes closed so the tears wouldn’t fall. Grantaire made more soothing noises as he led him to the crawlspace, helped him clamber down, and finally tucked him in as best as he could manage. 

“Share?” Enjolras asked as Grantaire went to wrap the extra blanket around him like a cocoon. “I’m not the only one who-” He bit his lip. “It will be warmer for both of us that way.” It was too dark to clearly see Grantaire’s face, but Enjolras knew the other man had narrowed his eyes. He almost didn’t care, since Grantaire acquiesced and wrapped them up together. Enjolras took his hand, like always, and squeezed until Grantaire squeezed back. 

He drifted in and out of consciousness for a time, in too much pain and still too cold to fully fall asleep. Every time he opened his eyes, Grantaire was watching him, the whites of his eyes just visible in the gloom. Enjolras wanted to tell him, wanted to explain that he felt terrible for what he had been forced to say in front of him that morning, why he had reacted so poorly to Grantaire being given a little reprieve, how he had willingly allowed himself to be hurt just so Grantaire could take care of him and comfort him after, but that would only make everything far worse. He settled for whispering, “Thank you,” and pressing a longer than usual kiss to Grantaire’s brow. In return, he let himself be soothed into sleep by Grantaire petting his hand, very softly.


End file.
